


Roommate Wanted

by alyoraShadow



Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:28:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28938510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyoraShadow/pseuds/alyoraShadow
Summary: When Tris answers a craigslist ad to fill an open room in a four bedroom apartment, she isn't necessarily looking to make new friends. Her new roommates seem to have other ideas.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 44





	Roommate Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Scribe, who helped me think of this idea, figured out what all of these characters would be up to in a Modern AU, and found every misspelled name when she betaed.

Spacious Attic Room Open in Friendly 4 BR Apt near Winding Circle 

3 roommates in our mid-twenties looking for someone to fill an affordable, spacious attic room in our 4 bed/2 bath apartment. We are a local shop owner and yarn enthusiast, an artist who loves crime shows, and a gardener who is uninterested in other hobbies. Our apartment has a large common space with dining room, living room and kitchen, and a beautiful backyard with extensive vegetable gardens. Your room is on the 3rd floor of our two floor apartment (our wonderful landladies live in the first floor apartment). 15 minute walk to Winding Circle, brief subway ride to Lightbridge. Pet friendly. 

\--

Email from trisana.chandler@lightsbridge.edu to sandry@stitchedyarn.com 

Hi, 

I’m writing to inquire about your apartment listing on craigslist. Is it still available? I am a student at Lightsbridge and can provide references from previous roommates or proof of income as needed. I am a quiet, respectful roommate and have an iguana.

Best,  
Tris

\--

Text from Sandry to “House Chat” group message. 

Sandry: Got another roommate inquiry. Lightsbridge grad student with lizard.  
Daja: Lizard? Lol.  
Briar: As long as it stays away from my plants.  
Sandry: She didn’t seem very friendly.  
Daja: What do you mean?  
Sandry: She didn’t ask any question about us as a house, or roommates.  
Briar: C’mon, Sandry. Not everyone wants to be best friends with the people they live with.  
Daja: Yeah, and compared to the last few inquiries we got…  
Briar: I say go for it. We need someone to pay the rent. Not all of us can afford to keep splitting the cost of the fourth room the way you can, Duchess.  
Daja: I hate to say it, but I agree with Briar. I don’t think we can wait until we find the perfect person. And I’m sure this girl will be very nice.  
Sandry: Fine, if that’s what both of you want, I guess I’ll tell Tris she’s in.

\---  
Email from sandry@stitchedyarn.com to trisana.chandler@lightsbridge.edu 

Hi Tris, 

Thanks so much for reaching out! We’re very happy to hear from you. The room is still available, and your iguana shouldn’t be a problem, as long as he doesn’t eat plants. One of our roommates has quite a lot of plants he is _very_ attached to, so he would be pretty upset if they were to be eaten. Other than that, I can put you in touch with our landlady Lark to discuss details of the background check and lease if you’d like. In the meantime, let me know if you have any other questions about the house, the room, or myself and the other roommates. 

Thanks,  
Sandry

\---

Email from sandry@stitchedyarn.com to trisana.chandler@lightsbridge.edu 

Hi Sandry, 

I appreciate your swift response. I would like to be put in touch with your landlady. I can assure you that Chime doesn’t eat plants. 

Best,  
Tris

\---

Tris stood in front of the moving truck, surveying her new apartment. From the outside, 6 Cheeseman Street looked friendly and welcoming. Framed by gardens, the house looked neat and clean, the shutters and door painted a dark green. The whitewashed stone building supported an addition on either side, one made of dark wood pierced by windows, the other a wooden frame with sheer cloth. 

The house looked friendly, but Tris knew better than to get her hopes up about its inhabitants. She’d been here before, standing in front of a new apartment full of roommates whose cheery ads and outgoing emails had suggested comradery and compatibility, only to meet the awkward and disappointing reality. People liked the idea of a grad student as a roommate, at least in the abstract, but they tended not to like _Tris_. She was prickly and studious, she often stayed up all night studying, and she liked to keep her windows open regardless of the weather. She kept her own space immaculate but wasn’t willing to go out of her way to pick up after others, and she was too broke to go in on joint house endeavors like fancy groceries and expensive furniture. The fact was that Tris just wasn’t good at making new friends, and she was tired of trying. 

“Who needs friends?” she murmured down in the direction of the pet carrier she was holding in her left hand. “I’ve got you, and Niko, and my thesis. That’s plenty for me.” A grey-green tail, just visible through the slated front, appeared to twitch in response to her comment.

As Tris stood there, the front door opened and a tall woman in dark green came out, wearing a genuinely welcoming smile. From the grey streaks in her short black hair, Tris guessed she was one of the landladies Sandry had mentioned, rather than Sandry herself. 

“You must be Tris,” the woman said warmly. “I’m Lark, the landlady - well, one of them. My wife Rosethorn is around somewhere, probably round the back in her garden, but I take care of all the house business, so you should come to me if you need anything at all.” From the warmth in the woman’s voice, Tris imagined Lark offering her renters anything from house repairs to life advice. She offered a tentative smile in response. 

The front door opened again, and a young woman ran eagerly across the lawn to join them. As she approached, Tris took in a pair of cornflower blue eyes over a button nose, pale skin, light brown hair that was neatly braided and pinned back in an elegant manner, and a blue sundress that Tris’ experienced eye noted as simple but costly. 

“Tris, hi,” the girl said, beaming and slightly breathless. “I saw the moving truck from my window.” She pointed to a room on the second floor, where colorful curtains were fluttering in the slight breeze. “It’s so nice to meet you! Can I give you a hand with your stuff? Daja and Briar should be down momentarily.” 

“You got Briar to agree to moving duty?” Lark said, smiling. “That’s quite an accomplishment,”

Tris flushed. “I don’t need any help,” she said, stiffly. “I can take care of it myself.”

“Nonsense!” Sandry said, imperiously. “We’re happy to help. Your room is way up in the attic, and the stairs are brutal. Daja was just putting on some shoes. And Briar will pitch in too – _assuming he knows what’s good for him!_ ” She shouted the last part in the direction of the house. 

“You know that the more you push him the longer he’ll make you wait,” said a new voice, amused. The newcomer was a tall, broad-shouldered black girl, whose calm face was framed by a handful of thin braids. Tris noted that her dark red shirt and ripped jeans did not seem to be of the same quality of Sandry’s clothes, and had clearly seen some hard work. 

“I’m Daja,” she said, offering a firm shake when Tris took her hand. “Sandry talked your ear off yet?” Sandry stuck her tongue out at Daja. Tris shook her head awkwardly, unsure how to return the easy banter. These two girls obviously already had a close relationship; she wondered how they felt about a stranger coming into their home. 

Lark, perhaps sensing Tris’ discomfort, stepped forward. “Before I forget, let me give you the keys. This one is for the front door, and this one is for the apartment. The house door can stick a bit, but if you give it a good jiggle it usually opens, and if it gives you any trouble just give a shout – someone is always around.” Tris took the keys from her and stuffed them into her pocket.

“Let’s get you moved in,” Daja suggested. “How can we help?”

Tris wondered if she should refuse again, but she really did hate moving, with all the fuss and heat and stairs. She was thinner than she used to be, but she still wasn’t exactly in the best of shape. 

“You should let them help you,” Lark said gently. “It’d be a favor to them, really. Daja loves heavy lifting, and Sandry loves helping people.”

“Loves bossing people around, you mean.” This contribution came from a young man who Tris assumed must be Briar. His golden skin was the same shade as Lark’s, with coarse cut black hair and gray-green eyes. His nondescript clothes were covered in dirt, as were his hands and bare feet. 

He intercepted her glance, and grinned. “I hate gardening in shoes,” he told her. “I like to feel the earth between my toes.” He wiggled them as he spoke, and Tris returned his wide smile with a tentative smile of her own. “I’m Briar,” he told her.

“The gardener who is uninterested in other hobbies,” she said, thinking of the craigslist ad. 

Daja laughed and Sandry rolled her eyes. “Briar doesn’t have much use for anything besides growing things,” Daja said.

“And no use at all for cutsie craigslist ads,” Briar muttered. 

“It’s not cutsie to give people a sense of who we are!” Sandry said, throwing her hands up in the air. Tris had the sense that this was an old argument. 

Daja ignored them both. “He works as a landscape architect, but his real passion is the after-school program he runs for at-risk teens on Rosethorn’s farm. That and cultivating bonsai trees.”

“Daj’ is our resident artist,” Briar cut in, hooking an arm around the taller girl’s shoulders. “She works at the artist co-op on Winding Circle. She does all kind of metal – jewelry, sculpture, household objects.” 

“Her stuff’s really good,” Sandry put in, beaming. Daja flapped a hand at her, smiling. “And I own Stitched, a yarn boutique downtown.” 

“Sandry is an artist too, as well as a businesswoman,” Daja added. “She knits the most beautiful scarves and blankets and sells them at her store. She also does all kinds of sewing and embroidery too. If you don’t watch out, she’ll probably try to foist some of it on you, so be on your guard.” Tris, who couldn’t have told embroidery from sewing if her life depended on it, very much doubted that Sandry would be gifting her any time soon. 

“Also, her uncle is Governor Vedris,” Briar put in. Tris raised her eyebrows. That explained the girl’s expensive clothing. She’d never really thought about where the family of the governor might live, but she wouldn’t have picked this unassuming house. She wondered why Sandry had chosen to live in such a cheap home with a bunch of roommates; surely the governor’s niece could afford to live in a nice apartment downtown.

“Briar, how is that relevant?” Sandry asked, clearly exasperated. 

“It’s relevant,” Daja and Briar chorused. Sandry rolled her eyes. Privately, Tris thought Briar and Daja had a point. It was hard to look at Sandry in quite the same way, knowing she was related to the one of the most popular governors in the country. Perhaps that was why she hadn’t wanted Briar to say anything; Tris could understand that. 

“Shall we do some actual moving of boxes?” Sandry asked Tris, pointedly ignoring Daja and Briar.

“If you don’t mind,” Tris said. “Everything is clearly labeled, and most of it’s books, anyways, so just put it anywhere. The only delicate thing in all of this is Chime, and I’ve got her.” She gestured to the carrying case she was still holding. 

“Is that your lizard?” Daja asked with friendly interest. 

“Iguana,” Tris corrected stiffly. She hated when people called Chime a lizard; it sounded so undignified, like she was a newt or a gecko.

“Can we see her?” Briar asked. 

“Move first, visit later,” Sandry ordered, proving Briar right about her desire to boss people around. Daja flashed her a smile, as if she knew exactly what Tris was thinking, and Tris couldn’t help smiling in response. 

“I’ll leave the moving to you young folk,” Lark said, “but Tris, you know where to find me if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Lark,” Tris said, meaning it. She’d dealt with her fair share of landlords in her day, and Lark’s genuine kindness was a real rarity. Tris had initially been apprehensive when Sandry said the landladies lived in the apartment downstairs, but she found herself hoping she’d see Lark frequently. 

“Anytime, dear,” her landlady replied. “Welcome to our home.” 

\---

Text from Sandy to “House Chat” group message. 

Sandry has added Tris Chandler to this group message.  
Sandry has removed Tris Chandler from this group message.  
Sandry has renamed this group message “Old House Chat.”

Sandry: What does everyone think of Tris?  
Briar: The girl has a lot of books. I’m gonna be sore tomorrow.  
Daja: I like Chime! She’s so beautiful.  
Sandry: But what do you think of Tris, not her stuff!  
Daja: She seems kinda quiet, but nice.  
Briar: Quiet is a good thing! One chatterbox in this apartment is enough.  
Sandry: I *assume* you are talking about Daja.  
Daja: Oh yeah, I’m really known for my verbose ways.  
Sandry: I’m disappointed she didn’t want to join us for dinner.  
Briar: Relax, will you? She just moved in. She doesn’t have to eat with a bunch of strangers if she doesn’t want to.  
Daja: Give her a chance to settle in, okay?  
Sandry: Okay, fine…

\--- 

The view from Tris’ new room was a nice one. The attic room was spacious, spanning half the length of the house; Sandry had said the other half was used for storage, although Tris hadn’t needed to make use of it herself. The walls were plain and clean, and covered with what appeared to be a fresh coat of white paint. The rough wood of the exposed wooden beams had been sanded down and stained an attractive dark brown, and a number of slanted bookshelves of the same color had been fitted into one of the sloping walls. A large window filled the far wall, filling the space with natural light. 

The window had been the first thing she checked when she moved in, and she was glad to find that it worked. Some people had ideas about attic windows needing to be sealed shut, but this one swung open, far enough for Tris to stick her entire head out of it. Below, past the solid wooden addition on the first floor, was a garden that filled the back and sides of the house. Although Tris hadn’t actually met her yet, a woman she assumed was Rosethorn was often visible kneeling between the rows of plants. Beyond the garden was the stone wall that surrounded Winding Circle Park. Sometimes Tris could see people on the walkway located on the top of the wall. She hadn’t been up there yet, but she was looking forward to it – not the hike to the top, but the views the popular walk offered of the city, park, and sea.

The best part about living near a park, though, was that there weren’t any buildings to block Tris’ view of the sky. Her old room had been closer to the university, and all she’d been able to see out her second-floor window was the house next door. Hearing the harried mother of three shout at her children, not to mention the incessant yelling of the children themselves, was enough to tempt even Tris to close her windows. It was a huge relief to be somewhere new where she could see the sky and feel the wind. Tris gave a large sigh and allowed herself to relax for a moment, lost in the view of the clouds drifting across the sky. 

“Enjoying the view?” came a voice, and Tris jumped. Briar stood in the open door to her room, a bemused expression on his face. Realizing she was half out the window, Tris pulled herself in.

“Don’t you knock?” she said, scowling. 

“I did,” he said, “twice. You didn’t hear me. What were you looking at?”

“I was watching a storm be born,” Tris said without thinking, and then flushed. It was such an unscientific way of describing the process. But that was how she always privately thought of it. 

Briar cocked his head. “What do you mean?” Tris frowned at him, searching for signs of condescension or mockery, but he just seemed interested. 

“The weather patterns in this area are highly influenced by the proximity to the sea,” she explained, falling back on the familiar scientific language she’d used to explain these concepts to countless undergrads. “The warm moisture from the ocean currents evaporates into the air, and that air rises up and forms a storm cloud. If you watch, you can see the storm clouds take on the classic anvil shape.”

Briar grinned. “Are you cloud gazing or planning a lecture?” he teased. 

Tris shrugged a shoulder. “I teach Intro Meteorology to undergrads,” she said, defensively. “It’s not my fault I sound practiced when I talk about this stuff.” 

Briar didn’t seem bothered by her technical language or her irritated tone. “Let’s see it,” he said, walking over to join her at the window. 

Tris pointed in the direction of the park. “That vertical cloud over there is a cumulonimbus,” she told Briar.

He glanced out the window. “It just looks like a cloud.”

“It is a cloud,” she said tartly. “What were you expecting, fireworks?” 

“You said it was growing or something, but I don’t see anything.” 

Tris sighed. “Wait. Pick a small one, and keep an eye on it. You’re a gardener, aren’t you? Have some patience.” 

Briar looked in the direction Tris had pointed. Tris had noticed him take a slow, deep breath, similar to the ones she took when she was meditating. Worried she’d be caught staring, she returned her own gaze to the sky. The thickening clouds were a familiar sight, hurrying across the sky like plump undergrads late for class. She saw a wisp put out a plume of gray, then another and a third, blowing itself into a medium-sized cloud well on its way to becoming a thunderhead. 

“You said it’s because of the ocean?” Briar asked softly, without looking at her. 

“Thunder clouds need warm air to form,” Tris replied, “and the ocean supplies it. When the warm air evaporates, it’s not as dense as the cooler air in the sky, and that creates the lift needed to form a storm cloud.” 

“Hey, that was surprisingly comprehensible – for a grad student,” Briar said. 

“I _said_ I teach this material –” Tris began defensively, and broke off when she saw Briar’s grin and realized he was teasing.

“I bet the view is better outside,” Briar said, peering out the window at the slanted roof. “Have you been out?”

“On the _roof_?” Tris said, incredulous. “Certainly not. I can see the sky just fine from here without breaking my neck.” 

“Live a little, Coppercurls,” Briar said, hoisting himself up and crawling out onto the roof. 

“ _Coppercurls?_ ” Tris muttered. “I’m not really a nick-name kind of person,” she called out after Briar, but she wasn’t sure he’d heard her. 

“Come on out, it’s perfectly safe,” he called back. “Unless you’re chicken?”

“That’s not going to work, I’m not _ten_ ,” she told him haughtily. 

“Suit yourself,” Briar said, laying back on the roof and looking up at the sky. “You’re missing out, though - the view’s nice from here.” 

Tris glared out at him, but she was already repositioning her desk chair so she could climb up onto the windowsill; Briar might be able to jump like a cat, but Tris would just end up bruising something if she imitated him. Moving cautiously, she edged her way over to where Briar was lying. 

“I see you truly are far too mature to be goaded by accusations of cowardice,” Briar greeted her when she sat down next to him. 

“Please, I’m a scientist,” Tris said with dignity. “I posited that the roof was too steep to climb on safely, but when you presented contradictory evidence, I revised my position.” 

“Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night,” Briar said, grinning. 

The two lay in companionable silence for several minutes, watching the clouds. Tris usually thought of silence as awkward, but instead of focusing anxiously on when or what she was expected to say, she just lay back and looked at the clouds. 

“This is surprisingly fun,” Briar said, after a few minutes passed. “Is this how you got into all of this? Clouds?”

“Storms, really,” she told him. Tris had been fascinating by lightening as a child, staying up late to watch thunderstorms and track their progress. She’d spent countless summer nights armed with her stopwatch and composition notebook, methodically noting the time between the lightening and the thunder, along with the corresponding brightness of the flash and loudness of the rumble. “I got interested in clouds because you could tell when a storm was going to come. It made me feel powerful, to have that kind of knowledge.”

“So storms led to clouds, and now you’re getting your PhD in – what is it you study, exactly?”

“I’m an atmospheric physicist, which means that I use physics to model how the air and weather are affected by the atmosphere. My advisor specializes in the impact of climate change on global weather systems, and I’m currently working to model how changing weather conditions may impact storm patterns in North America over the next century.” 

“That’s pretty neat,” Briar said. “Do you like your advisor?” 

“Oh yeah, Niko’s alright,” Tris said. In fact, Niklaren Goldeye was one of the preeminent scholars in the field, although Tris hadn’t realized when she met him. He’d given a talk at her college, and she’d gone up after to ask a few questions about the way he’d modeled shifting hurricane patterns. The conversation had lasted two hours, and at the end of it he’d told her to apply to work with him for her PhD. It was only once she’d gone back to her dorm room and looked him up that she realized what a big deal he was – former head of the NASA Atmospheric Physics and Weather Group, current chair of the physics department at Lightbridge University, and frequent advisor to both state and national government on questions of climate change. But to Tris he was still just Niko, the guy who would spend hours arguing with her over theory, who was just as interested as she was in the way a tiny change to temperature projections might affect their computer models of storm patterns. “It’s a relief to study with someone who actually knows more than I do, for a change. There were plenty of smart people in the physics department in college, but they didn’t care too much about this specific area.” 

“It’s nice to have someone in your life who shares your passion,” Briar agreed. “That’s why I like working with Rosethorn. The guys at my landscaping gig care more about raking in the big bucks than about growing things.”

“Why do you work two jobs if you don’t like one of them?” Tris asked. “Couldn’t you just work at the farm?”

“Nah, I work for Crane – that’s my boss at the landscaping firm – so that I have enough money to keep Seeds for Success afloat.” 

Tris raised her eyebrows. “Seeds for Success? Cute name.”

Briar made a face. “The name was all Evvy – one of my first “Seedlings” as she now calls them. She used to hang around the farm as a kid, clearly didn’t have any place better to be after school, and I bugged Rosethorn into letting her help us out, since I remembered what that was like.” Briar’s face was closed off, and Tris wondered what had happened to make Briar a kid with nowhere else to go. She hadn’t had the easiest childhood, between her parent’s general disinterest in their awkward, bookish daughter, and her classmate’s casual cruelty towards the fat, nerdy girl who preferred watching clouds to playing with other children. But she’d always had a roof over her head and a warm meal at night, and she wondered if the same had been true for Briar.

She knew better than to ask, though. “That was nice of you, to take care of Evvy,” she said.

He waved it away. “Rosethorn did the same for me when I was that age, I was just paying it forward. Besides, Evvy’s a good kid, and she was a fast learner. After she got old enough to look after herself, I started to get the idea that we could help out other kids. So we applied for some grant funding from the city, and started an after-school program for kids in need to come and work on the farm.”

“And Evvy named it Seeds for Success?”

“Funders love that sort of thing,” Briar shrugged. “Low income, at-risk youth staying off the street, harvesting the literal fruits of their hard labor – blah blah blah. The money bags at funding agencies eat it up.” 

“So the grant funding pays your salary?”

“Nah, I get paid enough manicuring rich people’s lawns. The grant money goes to Rosethorn, for the space, and towards supplies and snacks. You would not believe how many snacks these kids eat,” he laughed. “I had to make Evvy an assistant counselor just so I could justify putting her in charge of purchasing and stocking our snacks.” 

Briar hadn’t said as much, but Tris was pretty sure he had single-handedly started a program that gave food, purpose and community to kids who needed all three, in a way that wouldn’t make them feel bad about taking it. She had to admit that was really cool of him. “Sounds like a great program,” she said. “I’d love to see it sometime.”

“You’re welcome any time,” he told her. “But fair warning, I tend to get a bit nerdy around plants.” 

“I taught you the scientific name for a storm cloud today,” Tris said dryly. “I’ll allow you to teach me the Latin name of at least one kind of herb.” 

“Fair deal,” Briar grinned at her, and this time Tris grinned back.

\---

Text from Briar to “Old House Chat” group message. 

Briar: Tris is gonna stop by the farm tomorrow night, if either of you wanna join.  
Sandry: She is??? Let me check my calendar.  
Sandry: Shoot! I can’t, the shop’s open late. :(  
Briar: You’re the boss, close early if you want.  
Sandry: No, Lark is already scheduled to teach an advanced knitting class, and I missed the last one she did.  
Daja: I can’t either, I have a second date with Rizu.  
Sandry: Yay!!!  
Briar: Which one is she?  
Sandry: Briar! Pay attention! Remember the really nice seamstress from last week?  
Briar: I’m just kidding, of course I remember. Daja talked about her for days. Where are you going tomorrow?  
Daja: She wants to see my studio at the Coop.  
Briar: I bet she does. Bet she wants to watch you weld things. ;-)  
Sandry: How is it that you can make everything dirty?  
Briar: It’s not much of a stretch here, Sandry.  
Daja: For your information I’m planning to take things slow. Unlike some people, I like to get know a lady before I sleep with her.  
Briar: I’m not actually looking to be friends with the girls I sleep with.  
Sandry: You know that’s worse, right?  
Briar: Everyone I sleep with knows exactly what she’s getting into. I don’t think there’s any harm in the way I conduct my sex life.  
Daja: Can we not do this again?  
Sandry: I’ll stop if he does.  
Briar: Let the record note that I am exerting a heroic effort not to make a sexual joke out of Sandry’s last comment and deserve credit for taking the high road.  
Daja: If you feel the need to say that, you don’t get credit.  
Sandry: I’m just sad you’re going to be hanging out with Tris and we’re going to miss it!!!  
Briar: I promise to text you both constant updates.  
Sandry: Really?  
Briar: No.

\--- 

It had been several weeks since Tris had been to see Briar’s farm, and she still hadn’t seen where Daja worked. She’d made an emergency run to Sandry’s store one morning when Sandry had forgotten her keys at home. Tris had been glad of the chance to get away from her grading, and it had given her an excuse to take a quick look around without feeling obligated to stay too long. She’d found the store to be bright and pretty, although she doubted she’d have a lot of reason to visit a yarn store in the future, even one owned by her roommate. Still, it seemed to mean a lot to Sandry that she’d made the time to stop by, at least once.

She still hadn’t taken the time to visit Daja, though. The Winding Circle Artists Co-Op actually wasn’t too far from Lightsbridge, but it never seemed like the right moment to go over. Tris generally wasn’t much of a walker, except when she was really stuck on a particularly complex theoretical problem, or when she was particularly annoyed by one of her classmates.

Today it was the latter, and Tris was so busy fuming over the irritating conversation she’d had over lunch that she didn’t even realize she was heading in the direction of the Co-Op until she found herself in front of the building. Tris debated walking by, but she did have a standing invitation from Daja to stop in any time. Now that she was literally out front, she might as well stop in and take a look. 

The brick building appeared to be a repurposed warehouse that had been divided into two rooms. A shop ran along the front of the building, where customers could buy works from the resident artists. The rest of the building was one big industrial workspace with high ceilings and dozens of work benches. From the door, Tris could see that the Co-op was home a wide variety of artists, not just metal workers like Daja. 

Tris spotted Daja in the back of the room, and walked past tables filled with partially painted canvasses, smudgy charcoal sketches, fragile glass globes, and half-glazed ceramic pots. She tried not to stare at one artist who appeared to be crafting a giant bird out of deconstructed wire coat hangers. She wondered who would buy something so large, and what they would do with it. 

Daja’s space was a mess of tools Tris didn’t recognize, various metal scraps, and a handful of copper rods. Daja was engrossed in her work, so Tris knocked awkwardly on the desk to get her attention. 

“Hey,” she said. “Am I interrupting?” 

“Tris!” Daja said, looking surprised. “Is everything okay?” 

Tris flushed. “I was just in the neighborhood and I thought I’d stop in,” she said, scuffing a foot awkwardly across the concrete floor. “I’ve never been in before.” 

“Well, welcome to the Winding Circle’s Artist’s Co-op,” Daja said, standing up and arm sweeping broadly around the room. “The coop, to those of us who work her. As you can see, the idea to get a bunch of artists together into the same space to share equipment and inspiration turns out to be a very noisy one.” 

Tris couldn’t argue with that. The large warehouse was filled with sounds of sawing, banging, and welding, particularly the section that Daja was located in. 

“Did they group all the noisy people together?” she asked, raising her voice to be heard over the din.

Daja laughed. “It’s vaguely organized by medium,” she explained. “We metal workers tend to be a lot louder than the painters.”

“As they are always quick to point out,” offered the man at the next bench. 

“That’s Frostpine,” Daja said, and he raised an anvil in greeting. “He’s the one who got me my spot here, actually – he was one of my professors in college, and encouraged me to apply when this bench opened up near the end of my senior year.”

“Not often you see someone with Daja’s natural skill with metal working,” Frostpine said. Daja grinned and flapped a hand at him, dismissing the compliment.

“Can I see what you’re working on?” Tris asked. To her surprise, Daja blushed.

“I’m making a copper rose,” she said. “It’s … for Rizu.” She picked up a pile of metal scraps of which, once labeled, was recognizable as the beginnings of a many-petaled rose. Tris, who’d seen plenty of instances of Daja’s work around the kitchen at home, was stunned by the intricacy and skill required to make something so delicate out of metal. 

“Daja, this is beautiful.” 

“Thanks. I know it’s kind of a lot to give someone on your third date…”

“Not if you really like her,” Tris said. “Which it I’m guessing you do, or you wouldn’t be making this for her.”

“I really do,” Daja said, looking down. “I’ve never really felt this way about anyone else. I don’t want to scare her off, but I could really see a future with her. And I know it’s too soon to talk about, but it makes me want to make her things! Do you think it will freak her out?”

“Well, I haven’t met Rizu,” Tris said. “Does she seem like the kind of person who’d be scared off that you’re looking for something real?”

“No, she’s already told me she’s not interested in wasting her time in dead-end relationships that are fun but not heading anywhere,” Daja said. “We talked about it on our first date, actually.” 

Tris raised her eyebrows. “That sounds like a pretty clear signal that she is not going to run at the first sign that you’re interested. The rose is beautiful, and it’s showing her a piece of who you are. I think you should give it to her.” 

“Thanks Tris,” Daja said, “I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome – although I should probably add that I’ve never been in a serious relationship, so I can’t exactly speak to the way you should pace things.”

Daja cocked her head. “Lack of opportunity or lack of interest?”

Tris’ opinion of Daja rose several notches at the question. She was used to getting everything from pity to astonishment when people realized she was in her mid-twenties with absolutely no relationship history to speak of. “A bit of both, I guess,” she told her roommate. “I’ve always been more interested in books than boys, and grad school hasn’t exactly left me with a ton of spare time.”

“Have you tried dating girls? Personally, I thought I wasn’t interested in relationships until I started kissing women, and then I realized I’d just been looking at the wrong people.”

Tris shrugged. “Haven’t tried much of either, to be honest. I’m not saying I won’t get around to it at some point, but it just doesn’t feel like a big priority to me right now. I’d rather be tenured than married.”

“Fair enough,” Daja laughed. “And how’s that going?” 

“Ugh, fine I guess,” Tris groaned.

Daja raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t sound fine,” she commented. 

Tris shrugged. “It’s just typical academic nonsense,” she said. “I don’t need to bore you with the details.”

“You helped me with my nonsense,” Daja pointed out simply. Perhaps guessing that Tris would be more comfortable talking with less direct eye contact, Daja sat back down at her workbench and resumed her work, gesturing Tris closer so she could be hard over the din of the shop. 

Tris let out a huff of annoyance, and the thin braids framing her face fluttered a bit in the breeze it made. “It was just this stupid talk I went to today,” she told her roommate. “I was excited about it, too – the speaker is an expert on atmospheric dynamics –” she glanced at Daja’s face and added, “that is, analyzing the way storms and other meteorological events move. I really respect his work, and site him all the time in my own stuff, so I was excited to have a chance to hear him talk.”

“So what went wrong?” Daja asked. She had picked up a thin hammer with a flat head and was carefully pounding at the metal petals of her rose, curving them into place. Tris watched with fascination, noting the confidence with which Daja moved. She would have been worried about hammering her thumb, or breaking the delicate metal, but Daja clearly knew what she was doing. She forgot she was supposed to be answering Daja’s question, until Daja looked over, eyebrows raised. “Start talking, scientist girl.” 

“I asked a question about his data – I think he underestimated some of the specific North American weather patterns that might have influenced the outcomes he observed, so I pointed that out. He brushed past it, which was disappointing but understandable in that context – and hopefully he’ll have the sense to think it over later.”

“How do you know you’re right?” Daja asked, without looking up from her work.

“That’s exactly my area of expertise,” Tris said flatly. “I’m right.”

Daja glanced over. “So you’re annoyed he discounted your input?”

Tris glared at a scrap of metal on the floor. “No, it was after that, when a few of us went out to lunch with him. I got stuck at the far end of the table, near some first year idiots in a completely different area. I don’t even know how they got invited to the lunch; they must be friendly with the person who organized it, or something. Anyway, I brought up my question again, more out of an awkward attempt to start conversation than any real interest in what they thought. I’m not so great in social contexts with new people,” she added drily. 

Daja didn’t let up her rhythmic pounding of hammer on copper. “I think you’re better than you give yourself credit for,” she said. 

“Well, you’re pretty easy to talk to,” Tris said, without exactly meaning to. It was true, though. She felt more comfortable talking to Daja than she usually felt talking to anyone, other than Niko. “Um, anyways, so I brought up my comment again, and they gave me this whole lecture about why my idea was wrong.”

“Well, it was disregarded by the speaker,” Daja pointed out, reasonably. “Maybe they assumed he knows what he’s talking about?”

“Yeah, but it was the way they explained it to me,” Tris said, her temper rising again at the memory. “So…condescending and belittling. Like I was some high school student who barely understood the basics, rather than an advanced graduate student who wrote her actual master’s thesis on this very topic!” Tris banged her fist on Daja’s worktable, and one of the machines emitted a spark.

Daja laughed. “Watch it, you’re starting to spark,” she said. “I’d hate to see what will happen if you get any more riled up.” 

“I guess I used up all my restraint at lunch,” Tris said. “I just hate that those privileged, smug, uninformed jerks feel entailed to lecture me, even though I know far more about it. It’s just infuriating that, as a female scientist, I have to work twice as hard and be twice as qualified to be taken half as seriously!” 

“I know what you mean,” Daja told her. “The coop is pretty inclusive, but lots of art spaces aren’t exactly looking for someone who looks like me.”

Tris considered. “How do you deal with that?”

Daja shrugged. “I try not to worry what other people think about me. They’re ignorant idiots, and their opinions don’t matter.”

“I wish I didn’t care what people think of me,” Tris told her. “I try to act like I have a thick skin, but the reality is that it really gets to me.” 

“I’m not going to pretend I always have a cool head,” Daja said. “I was in quite a few fights as a younger kid before I decided it generally wasn’t worth my energy.” 

Tris was surprised to hear it. It didn’t fit her idea of the generally placid Daja to imagine her getting into fights. Daja was the one who usually refused to get drawn into Sandry and Briar’s bickering, and who shut them down if they started to get too heated. Tris didn’t think she’d ever seen her so much as raise her voice at home. But as she watched Daja methodically pounding the copper petals of her flower, Tris thought could imagine a slightly younger Daja insisting on standing up for herself when she knew she’d been wronged. Tris wished she had that kind of courage. 

“I’m scared of getting hurt in a fight,” Tris said. “But if I weren’t, I’d have happily punched those assholes in their smug faces.”

“Sounds like they deserved it,” Daja grabbed a pair of plyers and continued to shape the petals of her flower. “Too bad Sandry wasn’t there. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen her give smug assholes a dressing down.”

Tirs had to admit the prospect sounded appealing. Sandry didn’t seem to have any trouble speaking her mind. It probably helped knowing your uncle was the governor, but Tris suspected Sandry would have been that way regardless of her relations. “I’ll have to bring her to my next department function,” Tris said, drily. “I’m sure she’d have plenty of opportunities.” 

“She would happily take you up on that,” Daja assured her. “Honestly, she’d consider it a treat. She’s always been that way – well, as long as I’ve known, her anyways.”

“How long has that been?” Tris got the sense that Daja and Sandry went back a ways, but she was never really good at judging these things. Close friendships were always a bit of a mystery to her, never having had too many of them herself. 

“Since college. She overheard someone making a snide comment about my skin color and affirmative action, and she leapt to my defense without even knowing me. She was a sight to behold, scared those sorority girls right off. Haven’t been able to get rid of her since,” Daja added with a smile.

“And when you graduated you moved in here?”

“Yep! Sandry was originally going to move in with her boyfriend Shan, but he turned out to be a real asshole who was more interested in her family connections than in her. I’d already signed the lease to move in here by that point, but luckily Lark still had a room open, so Sandry moved in when I did. Of course she could have afforded a nicer place, but,” Daja shrugged. “she said she’d rather live with me.”

“Sounds like she’s a good friend.”

“The best. She’s like a sister to me, really.” Tris thought wistfully that it would be nice to have a friend like that. 

“And what about Briar?” she asked. 

“He’s like a sister to me too,” Daja joked. “No, we haven’t known Briar as long – we met him when he moved in, actually – like you. He heard about the vacancy from Rosethorn, at work. Most people wouldn’t want to live above their boss, but Rosethorn and Briar are pretty close. Anyway, he was skeptical of living with a bunch of girls at first, but we won him over eventually.” Daja gave a broad grin that suggested that the process had entailed a great deal of persistence on Sandry’s side and a great deal of grumbling on Briar’s. 

“It’s nice that you all get along so well,” Tris said wistfully. “I’ve never really had that with people I lived with.” She flushed, realizing how it sounded. She hated seeming desperate.

Daja smiled. “Well, you can now, if you want it,” she said, in a tone that sounded matter-of-fact, rather than pitying. “I know it’s hard to be the new one, but if you want to get to know us better, all you have to do is come to roommate dinner on Sunday. I know Sandry has invited you. No doubt, repeatedly.” 

“She has made the offer, but I haven’t wanted to intrude,” Tris said. “Just because you guys have to live with me doesn’t mean you have to hang out with me.” 

“We’re your roommates, you’re not intruding.” Tris thought Daja sounded like she actually meant it. “Do you have plans this Sunday?”

Tris wavered. “I mean, just working on my thesis…” 

Daja wrinkled her nose. “You can take a break for a few hours. Come to dinner. I promise, you will make Sandry’s year.”

“Okay,” Tris said. “I guess I could come to house dinner on Sunday, just this once.”

\---  
Text from Daja to “Old House Chat” group message. 

Daja: Tris said she’s in for house dinner on Sunday!  
Sandry: OMG!!!  
Sandry: Yay!!!  
Sandry: It’s happening!!!!  
Briar: Sandry, you need to chill.  
Sandry: What did you do???  
Daja: Magic!  
Sandry: ???  
Daja: …I just talked to her.  
Sandry: What did you say? What did she say?  
Daja: She’s really nice, she’s just shy. She hasn’t wanted to intrude.  
Sandry: But I invited her SO MANY TIMES.  
Daja: She thought you were just being polite.  
Briar: Have you noticed she never goes out? I’m not sure she has a lot of friends.  
Daja: And I think she really is pretty busy with school.  
Sandry: Weekly dinner with us is perfect then, since we LIVE TOGETHER.  
Briar: Sandry. Chill.  
Daja: Let’s just take it one week at a time, okay?  
Sandry: Okay, I’ll play it cool.  
Briar: I highly doubt that.  
Sandry: Does anyone know Tris’s favorite food? I want to make something she’ll like!  
Sandry: Should it be fancy or casual? Should I ask her?  
Daja: I don’t think that counts as playing it cool, Sandry.  
Briar: Yeah, just make whatever you were gonna make.  
Sandry: Okay, fine. But one day you are going to look back on this dinner as the beginning of *us* and wonder why you took it for granted at the time.  
Daja: She’s not going to be able to play it cool, is she?  
Briar: Definitely not. 

\---

Tris had only been to a few Sunday dinners when she walked into the apartment to find Sandry in a bad mood. Even after a handful of dinners together she still didn’t feel she knew her roommates particularly well, but Sandry was pretty easy to read. 

“Cat dirt, cat dirt, cat dirt!” Sandry said, banging her fist against the table in frustration. 

Tris paused on her walk towards the stairs. “You okay?” she asked awkwardly. Tris preferred solitude when she was upset, but from what she’d observed at the dinners, Sandry seemed to be more vocal about her feelings. 

“No,” Sandry snapped, cheeks red with vexation. Tris pulled back, stung, but before she could resume her walk to the stairs Sandry waved a hand in apology. “Sorry, that tone wasn’t directed at you. It’s just this website - won’t – cooperate – at – all.” Sandry punctuated each word with a small shake of her laptop.

Tris raised her eyebrows. “I’m not an expert on technology,” she said mildly, “but I’m not sure there’s a lot of support for the theory that shaking your laptop will produce particularly effective results.” 

Sandry collapsed against the table, the fight going out of her all at once. “I know it won’t,” she said in a thin, weary voice, resting her forehead against the table.

Tris felt even more awkward. Sandry’s uncle had been in the hospital since an unexpected heart attack about a week before. Tris didn’t know too much about it, but Daja, who knew more of the details, had told her that Vedris was doing well, although it had obviously been a huge scare. Sandry herself had remained determinedly cheerful and optimistic every time Tris had spoken to her about it so far, and had even been quoted in several news outlets expressing her confidence to the public that the governor would make a full recovery. Tris didn’t feel equipped for anything more than basic platitudes she’d offered up until this point, but it seemed like Sandry was in need of something a little more. She wanted to suggest Sandry talk to Daja, or even Lark, but neither of them was here. 

“Hard day?” she said, with her best attempt at a sympathetic tone. To Tris’ own critical ear, it sounded woefully inadequate. She tried to remember what Daja had done in their conversation at the coop that had helped her feel so comfortable sharing, but it was hard to recall the specifics. The main thing she remembered was thinking that Daja had a quiet, calming presence. Tris was pretty sure that she herself was about as calming as an earthquake. 

“I’m just at my wits end,” Sandry sighed, apparently unconcerned that Tris’ ability to soothe was on par with a natural disaster. “I’m trying to update the website for my shop and I’ve been at it for hours, and it’s driving me crazy. And my uncle’s in the hospital, and I’m just so worried about him, even though everyone says he’s going to be okay. The doctors told me I should go home and get rest because there’s nothing that I can do to help him, but that just makes it worse!” 

“I get that,” Tris said quietly, dropped her bag by the foot of the stairs and coming to sit next to her roommate. “Sometimes not being able to help is the worst part.” 

Sandry nodded, a tear slipping down her face. “So I figured: if I can’t help him, maybe I can make some progress on the website. But the darn thing will not cooperate.” 

This, at least, was something that Tris could understand. “Trying to customize a website is weirdly difficult to navigate, even on a good day. I can’t promise to be any help, but I’m probably a bit fresher than you are, if want another pair of eyes?” she offered. “Unless…you wanna talk about your uncle?”

“Let’s try the website,” Sandry said determinedly, blowing her nose. “It’s probably hopeless, but at least I can cross it off my to-do list.” 

“Okay,” Tris said, hoping her relief didn’t show. She wondered if a good friend would make Sandry talk, but decided to let it go. She’d made the offer, and she really felt more able to help with the website than the emotions. “So, what’s the problem?”

Sandry sighed forlornly. “Well, I want to add merchandise to my store’s website, so that people can buy stuff from us online.” She gestured to her computer, where a cheerful website featuring attractive skeins of yarn was displayed. “The idiotic template I used doesn’t really have the features I need from it, and I’ve been battling with it for hours.”

“Those things can be pretty limiting, for all they help you get started,” Tris acknowledged. “What’s happening when you try to add merchandise? Can you just add another page and let people navigate it to it from the menu on the main page?” 

“I tried,” Sandry said, and Tris noticed that she sat a little straighter as the topic shifted away from her uncle. That was something she could relate to – throwing yourself into work when the rest of your life didn’t seem to be cooperating. “The problem is that I already have five menu options across the top and adding another one messes up the formatting. I spent about an hour fiddling with the settings, but it’s beyond me. So then I thought about combining ‘Events’ and ‘Classes’ into a single page, but -”

“- if you do that you’ll have to prioritize the events calendar,” Tris finished for her, nodding. “Which means losing this picture of – hey, is that Lark?”

Sandry beamed. “Yes! She started giving classes at my shop a few months after I moved in here and figured out what a talented knitter she is. You should come to one of her classes, she’s great.”

“I don’t do crafty things,” Tris told her. She had enough painful memories of childhood art classes to last a lifetime, although she didn’t intend to say as much to Sandry. 

“Lark teaches my beginners class! She’s incredibly kind and patient. You’d love her, I’m sure of it.” 

“I’m hopeless, I assure you.” 

“Lark can teach anyone,” Sandry said confidently. 

“I’ll think about it,” Tris hedged, looking back at the picture on Sandry’s website. The photo showed Lark standing behind a student’s chair, smiling as she pointed out something in the young woman’s knitting. The student had her head turned back to glance at Lark, but the camera had caught the answering smile on her face. Tris supposed it would be nice to spend some time with Lark; she had to admit that it was hard to imagine their landlady calling anyone’s early attempts “laughable” or “pathetic” as her high school art teacher had done.

“I hate to lose this photo,” Sandry said mournfully. “But I can’t cut the calendar. And even if I do find a way to satisfactorily combine these sections, I can’t actually get the merchandise page to work at all.”

“You mean you don’t like the formatting?”

“That, and I can’t figure out how to integrate payment into the existing platform, which seems like something you really need to get right. See what I mean?”

Sandry pushed her laptop towards Tris, who looked at the website for a moment before shaking her head. “Yeah, the formatting of this template really isn’t equipped to include an online store.” 

“When I got the website I didn’t think that’d be a problem, seeing as I have an actual brick-and-mortar store where I sell all of this merchandise. But people are always asking if they can find me online, and I feel like I’m losing business by not having a website to direct them to.”

“You are,” Tris told her bluntly, before remembering she was supposed to be comforting the other girl. 

“Thanks ever so,” Sandry said, wryly, but she didn’t seem to mind.

“Sorry,” Tris said, “It’s just – I had this argument with my parents for years. They own a home goods store, and I was always trying to convince them that they needed more of an online presence. It’s where the majority of consumers go for their shopping these days.” 

“Did they listen?” Sandry asked.

“Eventually,” Tris said shortly, uninterested in getting into her history with her parents with Sandry. She remembered with some resentment the summer in high school that she’d finally convinced them to listen to her and then had to teach herself enough coding to put a website together, when she’d planned to spend the summer tracking thunderstorm patterns. It was only one of many examples of her parents dismissing her opinions and interests from a very young age, a habit they’d never really outgrown. They’d argued with her decision to go across the country to college, even though she’d received a full ride to the top physics program in the country. They’d been baffled by her decision to pursue her PhD ats Lightbridge, and often asked if she’d “come to her senses yet” and decided to drop out of grad school and come back home. And no matter how many papers she published or conferences she was asked to speak at, they remained unaware of the importance of the work she was doing or the recognition it was receiving in academic circles.

It’s not like I have it that bad, Tris reminded herself yet again. It’s not like they threw me out or anything. They’re just uninterested in what I do and can’t understand why I didn’t stay home to run their store for them. They’ll always look a little amused and a little confused when people ask if they’re proud of me. It is what it is.

“Anyway,” she said, returning her attention to Sandry, “based on my experience with that website, I can attest that it can be a real pain to get these things up and running. But I have a better idea for you. You should sell your stuff on Etsy.” 

“Etsy?” Sandry sounded skeptical. “Isn’t the whole point to have it on my store’s website?”

“You could link to it on your website,” Tris said, pointing. “Here on the main page – ‘find us on Etsy,’ or something. Then create a shop on Etsy and sell all your stuff there.” 

“You think that would work?”

“I don’t see why not. I’ll bet Etsy is way easier to use than this template, since it’s specifically set up for this sort of thing. And you’ll probably be able to attract all kinds of other people who wouldn’t go looking for your store’s website but are looking to buy stuff just like what you sell.” 

“You had me at easier,” Sandry said ruefully. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life fighting with this website template.” 

“Besides,” Tris said, warming up to the idea, “if you did it on Etsy you could branch out a bit – sell some of your other stuff besides your knitting. Like the hanging you gave me.” A few days after Tris had moved in, Sandry had come to her room bearing a plump, neat roll of cloth that turned out to be a beautiful hanging of embroidered birds that she had made. Tris had tried to refuse, arguing that her slanted walls allowed little room for decoration. But Tris’ prickly standoffishness hadn’t deterred Sandry, who turned out to have quite the stubborn streak when she wanted to, and she had quickly worn Tris down. Tris had put the hanging up out of courtesy but had found she loved to lie in bed and look up at the brightly colored birds.

“It would be fun to have an excuse to do some other sewing,” Sandry mused.

“You could even get Daja involved,” Tris said, suddenly struck with the thought. “It could be good for her to have another venue to sell her stuff. She was mentioning the foot traffic at the Coop is down, and I bet a lot of the customers they’ve lost are shopping online.” 

“I’ve always through the three of us should collaborate more often,” Sandry said, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. “Daja made these beautiful copper planters for Briar’s birthday last year, and Briar knew just what plant would look best in them. I bet people would love to buy that sort of thing as a set.” 

“Daja could make you ornate knitting needles to sell with your fanciest yarn?” Tris suggested, although she wasn’t at all sure that this was something people would actually want to own. Judging by the enthusiastic smile Sandry offered her, she seemed to think it was a great idea.

“Okay!” Sandry said authoritatively, sitting up straight. “I’m going to do it. Let’s hope the Etsy interface really is more user-friendly than this website has been.” 

Tris thought about making her escape upstairs. She had a new book on arctic weather patterns that she really wanted to read. But Sandry’s uncle was in the hospital, and it seemed mean to leave her own her own. Besides, Tris was actually kind of enjoying talking to her. “You want me to stick around and help you set up the Etsy shop?” Tris offered instead. 

Sandry beamed at her. “You’re such a help! I’m so glad you’re living with us.”

“Someone’s got to be the in-house tech-support,” Tris said, dryly. 

“It’s not just that,” Sandry said, her tone more serious. “I – I really needed a friend today. I appreciate that you were here for me.” 

“What are roommates for?” Tris said.

\---

Text from Sandy to “Old House Chat” group message. 

Sandry has added Tris Chandler to this group message.  
Sandry has renamed this group message “House Chat.”

Sandry: Guys! Tris helped me set up an Etsy page for my shop!  
Sandry: Check it out! https://wwww.etsy.com/shop/CircleCrafts  
Daja: Wow, Sandry it looks amazing!  
Sandry: Tris was such a help!  
Tris: It wasn’t a big deal.  
Sandry: She convinced me not to waste my time battling with the stupid website for Stitched, and to go straight to Etsy.  
Briar: Haven’t I been saying that for years?  
Sandry: No Briar, you haven’t been saying it for years. You said it once, a year ago, and then never followed up. Tris actually sat down and helped me do it.  
Tris: You know how it is with grad students. Anything to avoid my thesis.  
Briar: Wait, your store is Stitched Yarn. Why does this page say Circle Crafts….  
Daja: lol Sandry, did you open an Etsy for your store, or for our apartment?  
Sandry: Isn’t it great? It was Tris’s idea, actually!  
Briar: Tris, what have you done??  
Sandry: I thought it could be a house project!  
Daja: She’s always looking for us to have house projects.  
Briar: Remember when she wanted us to take that trip….  
Sandry: Okay, I’ll admit that we probably would have died in that earthquake if you guys hadn’t vetoed that idea. But this idea is actually a good one!  
Tris: Daja, you did say you wanted a way to get your stuff out to a wider clientele. This could help.  
Daja: That’s actually not a bad point.  
Briar: Why would I want to sell my plants to strangers on the internet?  
Tris: I thought you might want to use the extra money for Seeds for Success. If the store takes off, maybe one of your kids could even come on as an intern to help manage the orders. It would be great experience for them.  
Daja: She’s really got your number, Briar.  
Sandry: See, everyone wins!  
Briar: Okay, but I want it to be clear that I’m doing this for the kids. Not because we need a cutesy house project or whatever.  
Daja: Whatever you say.  
Sandry: Yay!!!!!!!!!!!! Thank you, Tris!!!!!!!!!  
Daja: Yeah, thanks Tris.  
Briar: Thanks.  
Tris: You’re welcome, guys.

\---

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Sadly I do not own an Etsy shop featuring crafts from the Circle of Magic books, so these images and art are not mine.


End file.
